


Become Human

by queenofkadara



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Colemance, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, POV Cole, Smut, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15217193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Cole walks through Skyhold largely unseen. He sheathes himself in the darkness, and people forget. But not her.She sees him. Her eyes don’t slide over him like the others’ do; her attentive gaze snags on his face like burrs on soft clothing, catching and sticking, her smile broad, chestnut eyes that shine like the gilded gates of Val Royeaux.Sheseeshim.Maybe he doesn’t belong here. Maybe he should sink back into the Fade like the Lord Seeker said. But Lyanna Lavellan sees him, and that makes him real.***************Short story about Cole and Lyanna Lavellan falling in love. Tender NSFW smut.





	1. Chapter 1

Cole walks through Skyhold largely unseen.

He’s not a ghost; this much he knows. He scares people still; this much he also knows. They jump when they spot him, eyes flying wide, _strange boy, who is that, why doesn’t he speak, what’s wrong with him-_

He sheathes himself in the darkness, and soon they forget. But not her. 

She sees him. Her eyes don’t slide over him like the others’ do; her attentive gaze snags on his face like burrs on soft clothing, catching and sticking, her smile broad, chestnut eyes that shine like the gilded gates of Val Royeaux. 

She _sees_ him. 

Maybe he doesn’t belong here. Maybe he should sink back into the Fade like the Lord Seeker said. But Lyanna sees him, and that makes him real. 

*********************

Cole holds his dagger loosely and waits in resignation for Lyanna’s judgment. The soldier’s pain is pulsing, pounding, breath rattling like rocks in a barrel, _Maker take me, let it be done._

Cole corrects himself. Not Lyanna; _Inquisitor_. They call her Inquisitor, so he should call her Inquisitor too.

She frowns as she studies the soldier. The expression contorts the winding tattoo around her left eye, and Cole’s shoulders slump slightly. She disapproves; he can see it in her furrowed brow. She thinks he’s a murderer. But is he a murderer? Is it murder or mercy if the only other choice is pain that drags, pulls, sinks deep like swords through unprotected flesh? What would Rhys have thought? Would Rhys have been disappointed?

Inquisitor takes a deep breath and meets his gaze, and Cole is surprised: there’s no disapproval there after all. Her face is like an open door, and Cole doesn’t understand it. 

“I think Solas is right about you,” she announces. Cole tilts his head in confusion; he’s not sure what Solas has to do with this, but before he can ask, she nods her head to the soldier. “Go on, Cole. Do what you think is best. I trust you.” 

Cole stares at her. “You… trust me?”

She nods, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “If there’s really nothing more that can be done for him, then helping him die in peace is a mercy.” 

He gapes at her more incredulously than ever. He’s the one who reads minds, the one who sees what people are thinking. No one sees his thoughts. Does she have special powers too?

The soldier’s ragged breath draws his attention anew. He kneels, then gently slides his blade into the soldier’s ailing heart. Dull bite of agony, then fading, washing clean, _finally I can go home…_

The soldier is gone. Cole carefully wipes his blade on the grass before sheathing it. He gazes down at Inquisitor, feeling awkward now that the deed is done. Other hurts are calling him, piercing pains big and small, but he’s held in place by the little elf and her big brown eyes.

She smiles. “Thanks, Cole. I’ll leave you to your, um, activities. We’ll talk later, okay?” 

A dull wiggle of familiar disappointment writhes through his chest as he watches her leave. She won’t remember him. Most people never do. But perhaps it’s for the best. Rhys remembered, and it almost cost him his life. Evangeline remembered, and it _did_ cost her her life.

Inquisitor won’t remember him. It’s for the best. He trudges toward the kitchen. Food is good for healing many kinds of hurts, and the kitchen is good place to start.

He slips down the stairs and tucks away the thought of Lyanna’s open smile like a secret. She probably won’t remember him, but hope alights like a tiny flame in his chest.

*****************

The world is big - much bigger than he thought it was, and everything is so _new_. 

He trails behind Inquisitor as she moves through the Hinterlands healing every hurt she finds. There are lots of little hurts, and those are easy to fix: a lost goat named Jimmy who whispers good fortune; an errant vial of blood that glows a sickly red, returned to a lonely mage. The big hurts are harder to fix, gaping like unhealed gashes, frothing and fulminating with anger and pain: bandits, murderers, power-hungry apostates and cruel templars who are nothing at all like Evangeline. 

Inquisitor helps the ones who hurt and stops the ones who _hurt_. She burns away despair one step at a time, and Cole hovers quietly at her shoulder with an unusual warmth blooming in his chest. 

He doesn’t talk much during their travels. Vivienne and Sera don’t like it when he talks. He only wanted to help, to soothe the inky rivers in their thoughts, but they scowl and speak in pointed words, and he doesn’t want to bother them.

Inquisitor scowls too, but not at him. When they go to the Storm Coast, she brings Dorian and the Iron Bull instead. Cole still doesn’t speak very much, but when the others’ thoughts are so loud that his voice can’t help but join the voices of their minds, Dorian and the Iron Bull don’t frown and lash him with their tongues. They even ask _him_ questions sometimes, and when he replies, Lyanna smiles. Her head tilts, her eyes wide and curious, and the warm feeling in his stomach expands like a bowl filling with hot soup. 

_No, not Lyanna. Inquisitor,_ he thinks. He has to try and remember. The others call her Inquisitor, so he should do the same. 

At night when they return from their travels, she comes to visit him in the attic, and Cole is shocked every time she returns. She jokes that she has an excellent memory, and that must be true; he can’t understand why else she always knows to find him here. He doesn’t understand why she comes to spend time with him at all, but here they sit, her feet dangling and her smile broad as she perches on a pile of abandoned crates. 

Sometimes she asks him questions, and he answers them the best he can. Expressions ripple across her face like waves on a pond as she listens to his replies, and he hopes he’s answering properly. He must be, because she always nods and asks another question.

Sometimes she doesn’t ask him anything all. Sometimes they sit in silence - or near-silence, at least; Cole sometimes has to speak when the whispers he hears crescendo into cries of pain, or when the despair of a thought threatens to swallow him whole. But Inquisitor doesn’t seem to mind. She gazes at him with wide eyes and asks him what he means, but try though he might, Cole usually can’t tell her. The thoughts are flighty, a whisper of agony or a jagged shard of pain that’s gone in the blink of an eye, and he worries that Inquisitor will be angry that he can’t explain. 

But Inquisitor never gets angry. She gazes at him pensively then smiles, and they fall into silence again. At times she squeezes his arm - a gentle squeeze, not an angry grip like the templars - and he feels the heat of her slender fingers on his arm long after she leaves.

He listens to the thoughts as they cross her mind like the papers that slide across Josephine’s desk. She thinks of the people they know, the work they have to do, the porridge she ate for breakfast. But there’s a susurrus of sorrow underneath it all, and Cole wonders what made her sad.

Sometimes she travels without him, and Cole worries when she’s gone. There are bears out there, and bad people with weapons in hand and murder in their hearts. She carries two daggers on her back and wields them like extensions of her arms, but Cole still worries. 

So he cloaks himself in shadows and follows. Just to make sure. 

He concentrates hard to make sure he’s hidden. He knows some people don’t like to be followed, and he doesn’t want to anger her. But he has to make sure. He follows quietly, and he hides himself in the darkness, and she doesn’t even know he’s there.

Later, she comes to the attic and folds her arms. “So, Cole. You’ve been following us, haven’t you?” 

He’s completely gobsmacked. How did she know? 

He ducks his head in shame, but she’s smiling - how is she always smiling at him? - and he cautiously meets her eyes. “Yes,” he admits. “How… how did you know?” 

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I thought I saw you at the corner of my eye, but I thought I was imagining it. Then I caught Solas talking to himself. But he wasn’t talking to himself at all, was he? He was talking to you.”

Cole stares at her. She’s right; Solas did speak to him at one point today. But Solas is like a piece of home, his voice ringing with the fullness of both worlds. Cole understands why Solas speaks to him. He doesn’t understand why _she_ does. 

Before he can think twice, the question pours from his lips. “Why do you talk to me?” he says.

Her little smirk melts into an unguarded expression of surprise, and her thoughts suddenly ring in his mind: _I’m lonely._

The thought is loud and dark, a stark contrast with her sunny disposition, and Cole blinks in confusion. “What?” he asks.

She tilts her head. “I said, you’re lonely. Aren’t you? You spend so much time alone. I just… I thought you could use a friend.” She drops her eyes, and the heavy feeling of her words deepens and gapes wide before she meets his eyes again. “You don’t mind my visits, do you?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I’m glad to talk with you.” 

She smiles at him, and the darkness behind her eyes wanes. Her shoulders relax as she sits in her usual spot on the crates behind him. “Good,” she says. “I like talking to you, too.” 

Cole listens to the ebb and flow of her thoughts as she talks about Fairbanks’ mysterious past. The longer they talk, the more her sadness loosens and lifts and lightens until she rises to her feet. 

“Goodnight, Cole,” she says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nods. “Yes,” he says. He believes her. Most people forget him, their memories drifting apart like ashes from last night’s fire, but Lyanna always remembers.

*******************

The more time Lyanna spends with him, the more curious he becomes about the dark ribbon that weaves through her thoughts.

The darkness is usually faint, like a trace of dye in water. But it swells when she watches the Iron Bull and Dorian flirting with barbed words and tender thoughts. It swells when she gazes over the banister at couples kissing in the tavern below. In these moments, a name and a face swim through her thoughts - dark-haired, handsome, _Ethanil_ \- and her feelings curdle around this face like milk left in the sun too long. 

“Lyanna, who is Ethanil?” he asks.

That unguarded expression washes across her face, and her thoughts are a sudden cacophony of pain. _Oh no, I didn’t want you to know about this, I didn’t - he left me, he lied, he left me for her-_

Cole blinks and stares at her, and she stares back before smiling, but her smile is all wrong. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

He shrugs helplessly, and Lyanna sighs before shoving her hands through her hair. “It’s okay, Cole. I know you can’t help it. Actually, it might be easier this way.” She sighs again, then looks him in the eye. “I know the others don’t love it when you listen in. But you can listen to this. Then I don’t have to talk about it.” 

He watches her cautiously for a moment. She nods a silent confirmation, so Cole reaches out and touches her forehead. 

_I love him, and he loves me. ‘Let’s hunt together’, but he’s always busy. A new member of the clan, a new mage, older than me, prettier than me. Tired of being with a child, he doesn’t say it but I know it’s true. I’m a grown woman, I know what I want! ‘You’ll find someone else. You’re too young to settle down,’ he says, but I know what I want…_

Her thoughts are hard and hammering, and Cole wrenches his hand from her forehead. She stares at him with shining eyes, and he stares back for a long moment before speaking. 

“I can take it away,” he suggests.

She frowns slightly, so Cole explains. “It clogs, clumps, clotting in your chest. It clutches you and keeps you captive. I can loosen the claws.” She frowns more deeply, and Cole balks at the faint query that crosses her mind. “No,” he blurts. “Not like the Nightmare. Not like that! I don’t _steal_ the pain. It doesn’t feed me. I help it to melt, like ice in the spring. That’s all. It’s not the same.”

She drops her eyes, and Cole is suddenly scared. He only wants to help, to smoothe her pain away, but if she thinks he’s like the Nightmare… but he’s not like the Nightmare, is he? The Nightmare tried to steal people’s fears… but is he doing that, too?

She lifts her gaze, then stuns him by reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you,” she says softly. “I know you want to help. But I think… I just need time.”

Her fingers are soft and gentle, and Cole swallows hard as she squeezes his hand gently. “Just give me some time,” she murmurs.

Her chestnut eyes are glowing again, but the despair is waning, washed away by a tentative warmth. Her thoughts are confusing, and he can’t help but listen in. _I still love him, but he’s gone - Cole is so nice - we’re the same age, more appropriate - who cares about that, doesn’t matter, I like him - sweet and caring - big blue eyes - can spirits even feel…?_

Cole doesn’t know what to say, so he nods. 

A slow smile lights her face, sad but sweet. She steps close and kisses him on the cheek. “Goodnight, Cole,” she whispers. 

Her voice is a gentle breeze against his cheek, and he feels it all the way down to his toes. Lyanna squeezes his hand one last time, then runs away down the stairs. 

*********************

Time passes in jumps and starts. Cole notices its passage by the changing of the castle. Frescoes appear in the rotunda, and the walls glisten and gleam with one mosaic after the next. Frederic’s dragon eggs wriggle and wrench open, and Cole catches fish to feed the baby dragons. 

As time goes on, Ethanil dissipates from Lyanna’s thoughts, and Cole is glad; Ethanil made her sad. His face sinks into the lesser parts of her mind as the dark ribbon in her thoughts fades and loosens. It seems that she was right, and that time is what she needed to help.

It’s a concept Cole has never thought much about.

To his surprise, he sees himself in her mind more often than not. He supposes it must be because they spend so much time together. They have supper together every night; she coaxes him down to the Great Hall and doesn’t seem bothered by the whispering people who ask why the Inquisitor is talking to herself. She teaches him to play cards, and she beams at him when she finds him playing wicked grace with Varric and the Iron Bull.

She stays in the attic with him until the deepest hours of the night, talking and listening in equal turn. On one particular night she falls asleep, her legs dangling off the edge of the crates and her head against his shoulder, so Cole carries her to bed. 

He sifts into her bedroom, then gently lays her on the bed. But before he can leave, she reaches out and grasps his wrist. “You don’t have to go,” she says softly. “You can stay here.”

Cole eyes her quizzically. “Stay here?”

“Yes,” she mumbles. She tugs his wrist, then shifts over in the bed and pats her pillow. “Let’s talk some more.”

Her eyes are closed and her mind is drifting with dreams, and Cole isn’t sure she can hold much of a conversation. But for some reason, he doesn’t want to leave. “All right,” he agrees. Gingerly he slides onto the bed, then sits back against the headboard with his legs crossed. 

He folds his hands in his lap and waits quietly, wondering what Lyanna will talk about next. But instead of speaking, she shifts closer to him. 

She snuggles her head against his chest and releases a little sigh. Her arms are curled against her chest, her fists tucked under her chin like a sleeping child. She’s warm against his side, like a campfire or a blanket but nicer somehow, and he holds himself absolutely still. He worries that if he moves, she’ll jerk away like a startled halla.

He doesn’t move a muscle as she gently rubs her cheek against his chest. “Your leathers smell,” she mutters. “Like blood and dirt. You should probably wash them.”

“I smell?” he says in dismay.

“I didn’t say that,” she replies. She places one hand on his chest, then pushes herself up and tilts her face toward his neck. 

Her nose brushes his neck ever so lightly, and he feels the sound of her inhale. A shiver of heat runs down his spine and pools in his belly. His entire body goes tense at the unusual sensation, and suddenly he can’t breathe. 

Lyanna slides down to rest her head against his chest again. “Your leathers smell, but _you_ don’t,” she clarifies. “It’s strange. You don’t smell like anything at all.”

He can’t speak. There’s no air in his chest. That shiver of heat is pulsing inside of him, strange but not at all unpleasant, and he wonders how long it will last. 

Lyanna’s breathing becomes heavy and slow against his side, and he can tell from the gentle ebb of her thoughts that she’s fallen asleep. That odd heat in his belly eventually melts away, and Cole’s gaze drifts around the room; he’s explored most of the castle, but he’s never been up here before.

His eyes fall on a small dog-eared book on Lyanna’s night-table. Carefully and slowly, not wanting to disturb her, he reaches for the book and opens it. 

It’s a journal, he realizes, written in her neat and loopy handwriting. Curious, Cole begins to read.

> 4 Nubulis 9:40  
> COLE: my age (~20 years?), blond hair, blue eyes, haunted-looking. Solas says he’s a spirit and we may forget him. **DON’T FORGET!** He helps people.
> 
> 5 Nubulis 9:40  
> Found Cole in the attic at the tavern. Does he sleep there? (does he even sleep? ask Solas.)  
> Had a mage friend named Rhys, and a templar friend named Evangeline. (forbidden romance? intriguing.) They abandoned him when they learned he was a spirit.   
> Cole is lonely.  
>  ****ALWAYS CHECK THE ATTIC AT THE END OF THE DAY.**
> 
> 6 Nubulis 9:40  
> He stole cheese from the kitchens. Can’t explain why. (funny!!) Must ask around, figure out where cheese has gone?  
> Dual dagger fighter, like me! Train together?  
> Killed the Lord Seeker Lambert. Dangerous but just. Good. 
> 
> 7 Nubulis 9:40  
> He likes nugs. SO CUTE.  
> Told him about aravels and how we use them. HE CAN MOVE AROUND BY MAGIC!! (kind of? is it magic or a spirit thing? ask Solas??) Wonder if he can do that while carrying people?
> 
> 8 Nubulis 9:40  
> DO NOT TAKE COLE OUT WITH VIVIENNE AND SERA. THEY ARE **MEAN.**

The book goes on, pages and pages for every month they’ve spent together. An odd sense of vertigo washes over him as he realizes what this is: a log of every time they’ve spoken. _This_ is how she remembers him: reminders to herself, facts to refresh her mind if her memories start to dim.

He clutches the book tightly in his fist, then reverently returns it to her night-table. She shifts slightly in her sleep and sighs, and her fist slides out from beneath her chin to rest limply against his chest. 

He breathes quietly in the dark. Then he gently takes her hand in his. 

Her fist uncurls unconsciously at his touch, and he slides his fingers into hers. Dawn will come soon, and sleeping minds will start to call for help. But for now, Cole will enjoy this silence.


	2. Chapter 2

The world is so big - bigger than he thought before, and loud, and bright, and _new_. 

He looks around nervously as the host shows them to their table. Everyone in the restaurant can see him, and it’s… oh, it’s _strange._

He feels their eyes like heavy drops of rain. Sometimes their gaze splashes off without a second thought. Other times it sticks, their stares sinking in and soaking, and he wishes he could hide again. Hiding was easy. Lonely, cold, alone, but easy. 

_This_ is… heavy. Eyes on his back, eyes on Lyanna too, and he can still hear their thoughts. 

_An elf as the Herald of Andraste? Ludicrous._

_She’s the only one who’s helping, fighting demons and dragons, it’s amazing! I want to join the Inquisition._

_She’s too young to save the world. Barely more than a child. What is Cassandra thinking?_

_Who’s that ragged-looking boy? The Inquisition is taking in strays now? Maker help us all._

He rubs the back of his neck in distress and forces himself to focus on Lyanna’s face. Her chestnut eyes are bright and keen, and she smiles as he meets her gaze. 

“They see me,” he blurts. “They all… see me.”

She nods eagerly. “The first step to becoming human. Soon you’ll be eating and drinking and everything else!”

He tilts his head curiously. “What else is there?”

His curiosity deepens as her cheeks flush a bright red. She ducks her head - _oh fenedhis, so embarrassing, don’t think about it, don’t don’t don’t_ \- then she lifts her chin again and smiles. “Have you used the privy yet?” she quips. “That should be enlightening.” 

She laughs nervously and pours two glasses of wine. She slides one glass toward him with an encouraging nod. “What are you thinking about?” 

He toys with the stem of the wine glass as he tries to explain. “I find people when their pain leaves them open. I ease the pain. I leave. They forget. That was enough for me. Now they remember. And I’m not sure I…” 

He trails off uncertainly. _I’m not sure I like this,_ he thinks. Eyes on his back, always watching, always seeing, sometimes frowning... but sometimes not.

_Child of the stone who savours the surface, grinning as he pats me on the back. ‘You’ll be okay,’ he says. ‘We’ll look after you, kid.’_

_His one eye is torn away, but he sees me just as clearly with the one that remains. ‘Still saying creepy stuff, huh? That’s all right. At least we’ll see you coming now.’ He towers over me, claps me on the shoulder. He’s not the only one who’s turned away from an old way of being. ‘We can figure this shit out together,’ he says._

_Resigned, regretful, but not angry, never angry. ‘Something of the spirit remains, Cole,’ he says. ‘It will always be a part of you. Be careful in your corporeal form. It changes more than you can imagine.’ He looks me over with a hint of sorrow, then smiles. ‘And I am here if you need me.’_

Varric, the Iron Bull, Solas… they are his friends. They were his friends when he was hidden, and they’re still his friends now. He’s not who he was before, he’s not the boy they thought they knew, and they don’t mind. 

A giddy sort of warmth fills his chest, like a balloon filling with air, and for the first time in his life, he laughs. 

“Cole?”

He looks at Lyanna again. Her lips are lifted in a smile, her eyebrows lifted in anticipation as she awaits his response. 

Suddenly it’s easy to explain, and the words rush from him like an eager fountain. “When I found out I wasn’t human, when I grew, I lost Rhys. I lost my only friend. That’s why I was scared about letting all these people see me. That’s why I laughed.”

She frowns slightly, but it’s a curious frown, a frown of understanding. “You’re laughing at yourself?” she asks.

“Yes,” he confirms. “This world taught me that changing means losing your friends. But now I know that doesn’t have to be true. I have enough _self_ to know what I felt was foolish. Isn’t it wonderful?”

She reaches out and takes his hand. “Yes,” she says emphatically. “It is.” She squeezes his fingers, a press of joy from her heart to his through the means of their joined hands. Cole has more friends now than he ever thought he would, but of them all, _she_ is the one who stands out the most. Cole knows that he has changed, but Lyanna’s kindness never has. 

Her fingers link tightly into his, her grip as warm and tight as it was when he was a spirit. There’s a thrumming in his chest and a buzzing in his belly, a pulsing excitement that he didn’t fully appreciate before, and he gazes joyfully into her brilliant brown eyes. “I might like being human. What do you think I’ll learn next?” he asks. 

“Anything and everything,” she says. “Come on!” She rises from the table and drains her wineglass, then tugs his arm until he’s on his feet. She throws a handful of silver on the table, then pulls him from the restaurant. 

Her fingers twine easily with his, and Cole feels her touch more keenly than before. Her palm is small and soft, her fingers slim but strong as she pulls him along. He’s been to Val Royeaux before - he was here for years, after all, in the White Spire - but this is different. He’s not stuck in the Spire as a terrified shadow of a man. He’s free and human, hand-in-hand with the best friend he’s ever known, and he’s _happy_. 

Lyanna pulls him through the square and points out every tree and plaque and banner. She takes him to all the shops and places goods in his hands for him to touch and smell and taste. They go to a tailor to look at clothes, and he realizes with a start that he can take his own clothes off. He’s seen people stripping down, but it never occurred to him before to do the same. Now that he’s human, he supposes he’ll have to. 

The day is a whirl of colours and sights and smells, and Lyanna’s joy is as unwavering as her grip on his hand. She barely releases him all day, her fingers twined comfortably into his, and as much as Cole enjoys the city, he enjoys holding her hand even more.

They stand on a balcony overlooking the market as the sun sinks slowly over the horizon. Her fingers are still linked with his, her arm pressing against his own as they watch the sunset. 

“I have to tell you something,” she says. 

Her voice is soft and thoughtful, and he looks down at her quizzically. “What is it?”

“Just something I noticed today,” she says. She turns to face him, and he looks down at her with a swelling of affection. Yes, _affection,_ he realizes; that’s what this is. This bubbling lightness in his chest, this warmth beneath his skin that makes it hard for him to stop smiling: it’s affection, and as he stares into her glowing eyes, the sensation warms his chest and throat even more until he isn’t sure he can speak. 

Lyanna tentatively rests one hand on his chest and rises to her toes. She gently presses her cheek to his neck and inhales, and a ripple of now-unmistakeable excitement runs down his spine to pool in his groin. She pulls away slightly, and her words fan across his cheek like a summer breeze. “I can smell your skin,” she murmurs. “You have a scent now.” 

The warmth in his chest has taken on a buzzing feel, like a current of lightning that fans out through his limbs. “Is that bad?” he manages to say.

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “It’s good. It’s… very good.”

Her face is so close that he can count every freckle on her nose and every curving eyelash. She bites her bottom lip, and suddenly Cole knows what to do. 

It’s something he’s only ever seen others do, an intimate act that he never truly understood, but with Lyanna in front of him, her warm hand on his chest and her delicate chin tilted up, he _understands._

Slowly and nervously - he’s never done this before, after all - he tips her chin higher with two fingers, then lowers his lips to hers. 

Her lips are soft and warm, perfect little pillows that openly accept his kiss, and his eyes drift shut as he savours their gentle softness. She cups his cheek in her hand and tilts her head slightly, her lips parting slightly beneath his own, and a shimmer of excitement lights his chest as she deepens the kiss. She catches his lower lip between her own in a coaxing little pull, and suddenly the buzzy feeling in his chest yawns wide, deepening into his belly until it feels like his whole body is a cavern of possibility, silent and warm and waiting. 

The very tip of her tongue strokes his lip, and his breath catches in his throat. Lyanna pulls away and studies his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I think so? Yes,” he stammers. He stares at her mouth, distracted by the rosiness of her lips and the weight of anticipation in his belly. His hands are encircling her waist, and he’s not sure when that happened; he doesn’t remember taking hold of her, but now he doesn’t want to let her go. 

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I - we - I can slow down. Or I can stop. You don’t have to...” She trails off awkwardly, but her thoughts carry on where her words left off. _I pushed myself on him too soon. He’s new to this, shouldn’t have moved so fast so quick, stupid Lyanna making another mistake, maybe he doesn’t like me and I forced him to come here-_

“Lyanna,” he says. His fingers tighten on her waist, and he gazes at her until she meets his eyes. “I like you. Very much,” he says. “And I like kissing you. I understand now why people spend so much time kissing. Would it be alright if I kiss you again?”

Relief washes over her face and rinses the fears from her thoughts, and she beams at him. She wraps her arms around his neck, and Cole’s breath halts again as she presses against him from chest to thigh. “Yes,” she says firmly. “That would be more than alright.” 

Cole smiles, and Lyanna grins, and suddenly they’re kissing again, her lips firm and her tongue gently coaxing. Her waist is firm beneath his fingers and her lips are lush, and if this is what it is to be human, Cole thinks he will enjoy it very much indeed.

********************

“So,” the Iron Bull says. He slides a tankard in front of Cole and plops down on the bench beside him. “You and the Boss, huh? That’s cute. I suppose that’s what we should expect when you have two horny kids spending so much time in an attic together.”

Cole is confused; the Iron Bull is the one with horns, not him. But the salacious undertone of Bull’s thoughts make his meaning clear, and Cole is pleased that this topic has arisen. There’s a question that’s been growing in his mind over the past few weeks, a question that grows in urgency with every stolen minute that he and Lyanna spend clasped together in the corners of the castle. 

He blinks earnestly at the Iron Bull. “How do you make love?” he says.

Bull’s eyebrows leap high on his forehead, and a sudden image plays across his mind: Dorian bent over a table as the Iron Bull trails a smooth glass wand along his thigh. Dorian shivers and arches his back. _Amatus, please-_

“Cole!” the Iron Bull snaps, and Cole blinks as the image disappears. “Keep out of there - that’s not for children’s eyes. And definitely do _not_ do that with the Boss.” He sighs and rubs his face. “Haven’t you seen…? I mean, when you were a spirit, you saw people having sex, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Cole says. “But I wasn’t paying attention then. I saw them, I heard their thoughts, but I didn’t really _see_. Do you think I should watch some-”

“ _No_ ,” Bull interrupts. “Absolutely not. You can’t sneak around anymore like you used to, and I just know it would come back to me if you got caught.” He sighs and studies Cole for a moment. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid,” he says finally. “Talk to Lavellan. Follow her lead. Do what makes you both happy. And if it goes well, I’ll take a little credit for that.” He smirks and sips from his tankard. 

Cole sits in thoughtful silence as Bull drinks his maraas-lok. Finally he rises from the bench. “Thank you, the Iron Bull,” he says. “I’m learning something new every day.”

Bull chuckles and shakes his head. “So am I, Cole,” he says. “So am I.”

*******************

That night, Cole joins Lyanna in her quarters as he has done every night since the day they spent in Val Royeaux. They press together in the dark every night, their lips meeting and melding until she falls asleep. Cole still hasn’t learned how to sleep, and as Lyanna curls against him at night, he reviews the images that flit through her mind when they kiss. She thinks about him naked, his teeth on her breast and his body looming over her. The images roil wildly in her mind until she slides into exhaustion, but these images are all that Cole can think about until the morning comes. 

Tonight, he decides, will be different. Tonight he’ll follow Bull’s advice, and they’ll talk. And perhaps those images, like Cole himself, will become something more solid than a dream.

Lyanna steps eagerly toward him, and Cole happily wraps his arms around her and accepts her firm and solid kiss before gently pulling away. She looks at him quizzically, and Cole asks his question. “Lyanna, do you want to make love with me?”

Her jaw drops, and her cheeks turn pink as she laughs nervously. “I, um, yes. I - yes, definitely. But what about _you?_ ” she stammers. “I didn’t want to rush you…”

“It’s all right,” Cole assures her. “I’m ready now. But I don’t know how. Can you show me what to do?”

She eyes him cautiously for a moment, then a slow smile creeps across her face. She lowers her eyes and bites her lip, and when she lifts her gaze to his face again, he swallows involuntarily; there’s _intent_ in her face, a greedy kind of intent that he’s seen hints of before, but Lyanna isn’t holding back anymore. 

She suddenly shucks her vest and pulls her shirt over her head. “Kiss me,” she says huskily. “We’ll go from there.”

A surge of excitement rips through him as he stares at her nipples. He’s seen naked women before, but none have ever fostered this feeling in his gut, this surging curiosity, this writhing hunger that seems to start below his belly. 

Lyanna stands still as he gapes at her. She chuckles softly and pulls off her boots. She unbuttons her pants, and Cole’s eyes fixate on her fingers as she pops the last button undone. “All right then, look your fill,” she says softly. “I can wait.” 

She pushes her pants down and kicks them away, then tosses her golden hair over her shoulder before standing straight and tall. Cole’s greedy eyes dart across her naked curves, and he can feel his shaft unfurling and straightening in his pants. This happens every night when he and Lyanna kiss, but never quite this fast or this preoccupying.

For the first time in a long time, his own thoughts are the only ones he hears. _Belly like a hollowed riverbed, smooth skin flowing over ribs like a ladder, my eyes climb each step toward her rosy-tipped breasts. She waits for me, wanting, wondering, collarbones rise and fall with hungry breaths. What do I do? What happens next?_

He drags his eyes back to her face. “What do I do?”

She tilts her head coquettishly and takes a small step closer. “What do you want to do?”

She’s close now, so close, so tempting, and his hand rises of its own volition, following the screaming instinct that fills his entire body. 

He glides his palm over her belly. _Smooth,_ he thinks, it really is as smooth as it looks. His cock jerks impatiently in his pants, and her skin jumps tense and taught beneath his hand, and she reaches up to take his hand in hers. 

Instantly he tries to pull his hand away. “Sorry,” he blurts, “I’m sorry, is that wrong-”

Her grip tightens on his fingers. “No, no,” she says. “I’m just - let me…” She pulls off his fingerless glove, then gently takes his other hand and pulls that glove off too. 

“That’s better,” she says. “Try again now.” She places his hand on her belly again, her fingers gently stroking his before falling away to let his fingers roam. 

She’s right; it is better. He can feel her skin more clearly now. His hands drift across her hips, thumbs along her ribs, fingers tracing the curves of her breasts. Curious and eager, he cups her breast in his palm, and Lyanna makes a tiny sound - a tiny, high-pitched whimper that Cole vaguely recognizes from his nightly wanderings through the darker corners of the Spire. He’s heard women make this sound before, but he never _liked_ it before. 

A roiling impatience starts to clamour in his chest. He slides one hand around the arching curve of Lyanna’s back and rests his other palm on her quivering belly, just below her navel. He wants to hear her make more of that lovely sound. “Can I keep going?” he asks. 

“ _Yes._ Keep going,” she blurts. Her fingers grab his arm, a firm grip twisting eagerly into his tunic. She tugs his arm lightly, and Cole follows the direction of her tug, his fingers drifting low beneath her navel and into the patch of golden curls between her legs. 

His eyes widen as he runs a finger between her legs. It’s hot and slippery, and not what he expected. “Is this good?” he asks. 

Her neck is arched back, her eyes shut tight, and she nods. “Yes,” she gasps. “That’s how you know I want you.” She gently takes his hand and guides him until he feels a tiny bud beneath his finger. “Touch me here,” she breathes. “That’s what I like.”

“All right,” he says agreeably. Her shifting hips remind him of the Storm Coast shoreline, a slow tide moving in and out slowly against his hand, and he likes the way it looks: it’s as though she’s dancing, a slow and winding dance against his fingers, and he watches with extreme interest as she slides herself against his hand. 

Those pretty little sounds are bursting from her throat again, sounds that encourage him and spur the yearning heat in his chest. Suddenly she gasps, then cries out and grasps his wrist, and Cole clutches her shuddering body tight as she thrusts against his hand with more force than before. 

Her thoughts suddenly burst across his mind, so strong that they pierce the cloud of his buzzing desire: his face, his fingers twined in hers, his hands on her hips. _Wanted this for so long, it’s perfect, my perfect Cole, I love this - I love - I love him-_

She arches her back, and his eyes are drawn to the budded peaks of her nipples. He opens his mouth to ask if he can taste, but his lips are too eager, too hungry, and instead he lowers his face to her breast and suckles one rosy peak.

She knocks his hat away and slides her hand into his hair to pull his face closer to her chest, and Cole is awash with sensation: the hardness of her nipple against his teeth and the softness of her skin, the strange but intoxicating scent of that moisture between her legs - everything pours over him at once, and it’s almost overwhelming. 

Lyanna gently pulls his hair, and he obediently lifts his lips from her breast until she’s looking him in the eye. She releases his hair, then takes his wrist again. Her eyes are intent on his face as she grasps his fingers, then slides his hand lower and guides his fingers into the folds between her legs. 

Cole gasps as his fingers sink deep. The warmth is so much hotter here, a slick squeeze of unexpected heat.

Lyanna gently rubs her nose against his. “Imagine this,” she whispers, “around your cock.” 

Her words trigger an avalanche of feeling, a peculiar roar of blistering excitement that surges through his blood and brings his already-hard manhood to painful attention. It’s all he can imagine now, and he wants it more than anything. 

“Can I - can we…?” He’s ready now, more than ready, eager and thrilling for her warmth, and Lyanna smiles as she steps away. She walks him backwards toward the bed, her fingers nimbly tugging at his belt, and she tosses his belt aside as she pushes him down on the bed. She gently peels his tunic over his head, then unlaces his trousers. 

He lifts his hips so she can pull his trousers away, then watches with wide eyes as she straddles his lap. He can’t speak, can barely breathe, the excitement is almost paralyzing - heart pounding in his ears, throbbing between his legs as she rests a hand on his shoulder and rises on her knees. Should he be doing something? Should he be helping? He doesn’t know; all he knows is her slender form rising over him and the roaring wave of _want_ that washes through his core.

She reaches down and grasps his shaft, then pumps her fist slowly along his length. 

Cole gasps in a choking breath. His hands reach up to grab her hips. He didn’t know that this could be so pleasant, he didn’t _know_ , and if her fingers feel this good…

“Are you ready?” she breathes, and Cole nods furiously. “Yes,” he rasps. 

Her one hand is on his cock, her other hand cradling his neck as she runs her slick heat over his tip, and he jerks instinctively toward her. A gradual, sleek pressure steals his breath as she slides onto him, and with every inch of him that she takes, his own thoughts grow louder. 

_Tight, slick, wrapped around me like a hot embrace. Clutch her close, her hands on my neck, her lips on my cheek, roaring heat in my belly. She’s gasping, gripping, grinding hard, the wave is rising, I can’t hold back, kiss her hard-_

Abruptly he grasps her bottom and stands, then falls onto the bed with Lyanna beneath him. She gasps in surprise, and a brilliant smile lights her face - _beautiful, so beautiful, kindness like a kiss, caring like a soft caress_. Cole cradles her beautiful face in his hands and thrusts his hips. 

Her lips part in ecstasy. Her arms are tight around his waist, her legs tight around his hips as she tugs him close, and too soon, too swift, the wave crashes over him. He presses his cheek to hers, a helpless whimper ripping from his throat at a scintillating shock of sensation ripples through his limbs. 

She strokes his back as he breathes hard, skin hot and sticky beneath his own. Her mind is loose and languid, a river of contentment that flows and melds with his own. Heavy, warm, wrapped in warmth, pleasure and safety and sweetness, and Cole isn’t sure anymore whether it’s his thoughts or hers that he’s hearing; they meet and merge and mix, a perfect match like lock and key. 

He lifts himself shakily onto his elbows, and she gently pushes his damp hair from his eyes. “Hey there,” she whispers. 

“Hello,” he replies, and she smiles. _Happy, so happy, never want to leave this bed, let’s stay here where it’s warm and there’s nothing to trouble us or tear us apart..._

Tiny worries wiggle through her mind despite her smile, but Cole knows how to help. He shifts onto one elbow and reaches for her forehead. 

He pushes a lock of her golden hair aside. He kisses her forehead, gentle and sweet, then her nose, then finally her luscious carmine lips. 

Lyanna returns his kiss, her mind melting back into a happy glow. They roll onto their sides, her head tucked under his chin and their limbs tangled tightly, and Cole marvels at how his life has changed. A shift of mind, a change of view, and he’s become something new. 

_This is what it’s like,_ he thinks. Lyanna Lavellan is tucked in his arms, her fists pressed to his chest as though to hold his heart, and this, he realizes, is what it is to be human.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you'd like! xo


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